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by quartermasterandhisagent



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Mission Fic, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartermasterandhisagent/pseuds/quartermasterandhisagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q always monitors James Bond's missions, until the one time he doesn't. It goes about as well as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015-2016 Reverse Bang Fic Challenge. Based around [ amazing piece of art by begnite. I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to work with them on this piece.](http://beginte.tumblr.com/post/137427297969/00q-sharing-a-sofa-at-work-my-art-for-the-00q)

It certainly wasn’t protocol, but nobody dared question the new quartermaster’s habit of monitoring a certain double-oh’s every mission. It didn’t matter whether it was a simple reconnaissance mission to acquire information for a friendly nation, or something much more in depth, requiring around the clock support –something double-oh seven appeared to be more amenable to in recent months. For the life of him, M couldn’t understand why. All reports from his predecessor indicated that the pair of them while unquestionably loyal, were deeply secretive, and prone to going AWOL without warning to deal with their own affairs. While all of this remained true, it had not escaped the notice of anyone at MI6 the stability Bond and Q brought each other.

It wasn’t evident at first, with double-oh seven being forced into mandatory medical leave and extended time off. It was normally only given when grieving the loss of a family members, but after all that Bond had lost, no one on MI6’s executive staff had hesitated to approve the leave when the request had come in. Besides, it was no secret how the previous M had felt about Bond, given the amount of control she claimed not to have over his actions in the field (but nonetheless applauded in private afterwards.) It made sense that Bond would feel something akin to affection towards the woman, and felt her loss deeply despite the lack of a visible sign. He wouldn’t be half as good at his job as he was if he couldn’t bury his vulnerabilities as deeply as possible. And Bond was the absolute best at what he did.

Q had spent the first three weeks following Skyfall sitting in endless meetings and filing paperwork. God, he hated paperwork. It was one of the reasons he’d never been keen on taking the position of Quartermaster in the first place. He’d been happy to serve as one of Boothroyd’s underlings, even if the man needed to be walked through his email system at least once a week. The man had a system, one that Q couldn’t possibly begin to understand without his mentor’s guidance. Now he was drowning in endless procedural red tape that came with being a department head, as well as fending off bureaucrats who all wanted his head for a system vulnerability he hadn’t known existed until the precise moment Silva had made his escape from HQ. His underlings weren’t much use, either. Many of them had been working for MI6 for longer than Q had, and while they all processed what had happened differently, the immediate aftermath of Skyfall left everyone edgy and suspicious. It was no doubt due to exhaustion from working repeated double shifts as they worked round the clock to patch MI6 back together again, but it left Q to try and assert his authority among people just days previously he had considered his peers and not his employees. It had been a difficult adjustment period for everyone, regardless of the amount of public and private scrutiny they had to endure.

Of course there were people not as deeply affected by Skyfall, but they were far and few between. Mostly those who were too new to really process the significance of it all and didn’t have the clearance level to know exactly what the double oh program was, or bureaucrats in upper level management who measured human lives in terms of risk assessment and threat percentages and were so far removed from the whole damn thing that they looked at the gaping hole at HQ as a blown budget –a logistical nightmare and nothing more.

Q _hated_ those people. How they could go on with their lives as if a goddamn tragedy hadn’t unfolded beneath their feet was beyond him. Logically, he understood that only a select few actually knew the woman that had been M for so long, most only knew her as a figurehead at best, their employer at worst, so it made sense that people could get on with their lives so easily. For Q, it was different. He had to walk around, and pretend that he hadn’t been shoved into a position he hadn’t asked to be in, and all the while he couldn’t say a word about how he hadn’t just lost his employer, but his mother too. Officially, no one knew of course. His identity having been built behind so many layers of protection that if something were to happen to him, no one would be able to properly identify him. Now that he was quartermaster of course, none of that mattered – his own alias had been entirely of his own creation something he’d been working on since his father first suggested he consider “joining the family business” at the age of sixteen. 

Q made no secret of his distaste of this attitude. As a result, most people in Q Branch gave him a wide berth, choosing to deal with things themselves unless absolutely required. It left Q to work in peace much of the time, often working late in his office at the end of a long corridor for hours uninterrupted. He would be proud of his department if he knew that it wasn’t a drive for autonomy so much as it was outright avoidance. The only exceptions really were Monneypenny, Tanner and Bond. M couldn’t be arsed to wander down, unless of course an operation was in danger of being belly up. Since his return to MI6, Bond had been everywhere. Wandering down to Q Branch without being summoned, checking in with Q to see if he’d eaten, and inexplicably dropping off trinkets he’d picked up while away, and just generally taking up space in Q’s life. 

*                                                                      *                                                                      * 

“Welcome back, double-oh seven.” Q didn’t so much as pause in his typing as he looked over at the older man, who had appeared silently at his side.

“You look like shit,” James replied, giving him a quick once over. While it was probably true, having been called in mere hours after double-oh seven’s mission had ended to deal with a crisis in the Philippines that had ended up taking most of his day off to sort out, Bond didn’t have to mention it. All he wanted to do was go home, order takeaway and sleep for about eighteen hours. He was entitled to that much at least. Instead he had to deal with James bloody Bond, and his self-aggrandizing ego – the man couldn’t even return his equipment in one ---

 _Oh._  

Bond slid the intact Walther across Q’s workstation. It took a minute for Q’s brain to catch up with what he was seeing, and really process it. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. The damn thing didn’t have so much as a scratch on it. “Thought I’d save you the paperwork. Moneypenny said you were drowning in it.” Q could _feel_ Bond’s smirk. Instead, he shook his head at the older man, and readjusted his glasses. Of course he would choose to completely overlook the fact that he never brought _anything_ back in one piece, usually including himself. He peaked at the man for the briefest of second, eyes scanning for injuries and found none. Another small miracle. Q found himself releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

Bond leant comfortably against the edge of the workstation; careful not to bump the precarious stack of prototypes Q had forgotten about until that exact moment. “Break anything double-oh seven, and I will make sure you get sent to the Maldives on your next mission.” The warning was severe, but came without any heat.

“Take away my drink? You wound me, quartermaster,” Bond replied, equally unaffected.

Q narrowed his eyes at James, pausing then in his typing to address the man properly. “Those prototypes are a quarter of Q Branches annual budget.”

“You don’t have to buy me a new gun, that’ll save you some.” Meant to be a smart remark, the twinkle in his eye betrayed warmth beneath his nonchalant exterior.

“Yes, I ought to reward you, shouldn’t I?” he retorted, dry as ever. Only someone looking for it would find the promise laced underneath. Someone like James.

Always aware of the watchful underlings that kept a close eye on the pair, Bond leant closer slightly and murmured just loud enough for the other man to hear, “Perhaps you should.”

Q flushed, trying not to choke on his tea, and give anything away. It wasn’t expressly forbidden to fraternize especially with members of the same sex, as it had been in the past, and James Bond (or Q for that matter) wasn’t one to ever follow the rules if it didn’t suit him, but there was something decidedly delicious about keeping a secret from the _entirety_ of MI6.

It had been bumpy at first, negotiating how much time would be spent at their respective flats, and to his surprise Bond had found it difficult to go about his missions in his usual manner once they’d started sleeping together. Q understood it was part of his job, and James had a reputation to uphold among the double-ohs – a sudden reversal of that would be a red flag, but it’d taken more than a few unnecessary apologies, and showers where James had scrubbed himself raw before he began to believe that Q truly meant everything he’d said. Q, for his part, found the injuries more difficult to deal with, Bond was reckless as always when he came to his missions, the core belief that his country was more important than his life—that he was willing to sacrifice everything, lay down his life if it meant keeping England safe was something Q couldn’t beat out of him if he’d tried (and loved him all the more for it, if he was being honest with himself). Not that he ever would, but it had been a difficult compromise for them both that resulted in Bond graciously allowing Q to badger him into going to medical when need be. James had seen that more of a non-issue than Q, just as Q had been rather nonplussed about the mission-related sex. It wasn’t as if Q didn’t know exactly where he was at any given point of a mission – he’d made it a point to always be scheduled during a mission, even if it meant pretending to do paperwork at 3am whilst really keeping Bond company on tedious surveillance ops. 

This was exactly what Q was doing the day he nearly lost James. Tanner had come in looking frazzled, all but shouting at the first Q Branch employee he’d come across to go call Q in before he’d realized the man was still here.

Q had barely paused in filling out yet another requisition form for lost equipment. It was his personal goal to bump the return rates up to 30% by the end of the year. With four months left, he was certain he’d have to result to bribery and perhaps making double-oh seven that exploding pen he’d been badgering Q about since day one. It was the only way he could conceive of getting above that threshold. Maybe he’d even get a raise, he thought idly.

He paused in his work as Tanner approached his workstation, still slightly red-faced and looking a little out of breath. “I thought Moneypenny sent you home at 2000h,” Tanner said, as if this explained his outburst only moments previous.

Q was tempted to roll his eyes at the man. Instead he said, “Between Bond and the rest of the double-ohs, I will be here until Christmas filing paperwork.”

“I heard that Q,” Bond replied easily, his voice distorted and tinny over the coms. “See if I bring you back something nice.” Q did roll his eyes at _that_ quip, and struggled to bite back a grin. Whatever it was that had brought Tanner down to Q Branch it must have been urgent – not the man didn’t visit him often enough (not nearly as much as Bond or Moneypenny, who fancied herself his minder when Bond was away, but still much more frequently than Mallory) – but Tanner was well suited to the position of Chief of Staff with his cool, even temper. It was hard to get more than a slight frown out of him most days, unless there was an absolute crisis to be had.

At this, Tanner shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. In the corner of his eye, Q noticed how the rest of Q Branch made themselves scarce, while still made an attempt to listen to the conversation. He turned to glare at a few who were too close for comfort, clearly eavesdropping, before returning to Tanner who clearly looked like he’d rather say what he had to say to anyone else. 

“Err, right. M says to hand off Bond’s coms to someone else.” His tone was almost apologetic, as if he knew precisely how unlikely that was to actually happen, M’s orders or not. Since Bond had returned to active duty, Q had personally handled every mission he’d been on. At first it was because things just went more smoothly with Q at the other end of the line – double-oh seven was much less likely to “lose” his earwig (or deliberately destroy them) if he didn’t feel like his handler was a complete idiot who was only going to slow him down—but after they’d gotten together, it became something more. It wasn’t that he didn’t have complete confidence in each and every one of his staff’s abilities, but something made him unwilling to trust James’ life in anyone else’s hands.

Q simply raised a single eyebrow, and waited for the man to elaborate further. Still, he took care to stack his paperwork up, and store it carefully in his bag if for no other reason than he was sure he wouldn’t be filing anything any time soon. Tanner stepped closer, set a dossier on Q’s now clear workstation and continued, “Double-oh six is in a bit of jam, bungled the USB you gave him and needs you to walk him through the system before the explosives he set go off.”

Q looked up then, doing a quick assessment of his staff. 006 had been R’s agent, working under Mallory’s guidance. He didn’t see her anywhere in the branch, probably already being de-briefed by Mallory while he had the opportunity. Something of a friend pre-Skyfall, R was his second in command and the only one proficient across the board, which made her well suited to handle the more difficult missions, which James and Alec were fond of finding themselves in the middle of. 

“Double-oh seven?” Q asked, his tone at once crisp and professional. Not a trace of the earlier humour and warmth that had been present just moments before to be found. 

“Here, Q” Bond replied promptly.

“Anderson will be taking over your coms, double-oh six seems to have gotten himself into a situation that requires my assistance.“

“Copy that. Get Alec out safely, Q.”

“You will be transferred momentarily, Bond. Be nice, and don’t get shot.”

“I’ll do my best.” Q hadn’t needed to have visuals on the man to know he was smiling.

“Arse,” Q muttered under his breath, more to himself than James. He stabbed the coms viciously transferring the call over, switching his own line to double-oh six’s frequency. He could hear the man swearing viciously, more in Russian than English but the point still got across.

“Right then, let’s get started shall we double-oh six?” Q said, letting the agent know he was ready to guide him through the rest of the mission. He was only vaguely aware of Tanner hovering a few feet away, having taken a seat on the edge of an empty desk, no doubt ready to give a report to M as soon as the mission was complete.

“Thank fuck, Q. This bloody USB wouldn’t work, and I’ve no more than fifteen minutes before the whole building blows.” Trevelyan said, the relief in his voice pronounced. R might have been Q’s best assistant, having earned every bit of the title as much as Q never had, but she was not a favourite among the double-oh agents. R played too much by the books. It made her an excellent field agent handler, but less suited to handling the whims of the double-ohs who disregarded protocol whenever it suited them.

“Let’s make it twelve, hmm? That should give you enough time to get out and away from the blast radius.” Q wasted no time pulling up an infrared map as well as the agent’s vitals and building schematics on the main screen that hung in the front of Q Branch.

“Cheeky. No wonder James likes you so much.” Trevelyan said. Q only sighed in response. An astute underling sat down a fresh cup of tea just inside his field of vision. He nodded his thanks, and made a mental note to approve either time off or overtime request for that member of his junior staff.

Behind him, Tanner coughed. If either of them knew anything, they weren’t about to divulge, and there wasn’t time to reprimand either of them as two men were rounding the corner on their security rounds, passing by the room Trevelyan was currently holed up in. “Double-oh Six, I need you to now click on the grey icon on your right that looks like a monitor, and read me off the number on the screen. Then I want to you to check the drawer for a thumb drive.” Q instructed in an even voice. He paused only for a second to flick his gaze to the corner of the screen where he’d pushed Bond’s vitals and tracking signal, double-checking that everything is as it should be.

After Trevelyan provided him access to the network, he walked him through the necessary steps of transferring relevant files to the thumb drive he’d found. The double-ohs were all trained to deal with a variety of settings, typically not requiring assistance on these kinds of missions, but they lacked the technical know-how to break through top level encryption in mere minutes that was now required. Of course Q had provided double-oh six with a USB drive that would do this for him, but he wasn’t at all surprised that the man had managed to break it before breaching the building.

The echo from the explosion was still fading when the vitals and tracking signal for Bond flashed red before cutting out entirely. He dimly heard Anderson’s strained voice asking for double-oh seven to report in before he pitched sideways.

 “Q, are you alright?” Tanner asked him, thankfully having caught him before he smashed his head against the corner of his desk. He did _not_ have time to muddle through a concussion. 

“I’m fine.” He snapped, voice taught and brittle. The entirety of Q Branch stared at him. It was discomfiting, but it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it now.

He pulled himself fully upright, and was already furiously typing when Anderson said in a small, frightened voice. “Sir, I’ve lost Bond. He was compromised, and there was gunfire –“

Anderson didn’t need to finish the sentence, perhaps didn’t dare speak the words most of Q Branch was probably thinking. Q refused to entertain the notion. Bond couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. They had dinner reservations next week, and tickets to see a show Moneypenny had mentioned to him over lunch just a few days previous that he would like. James had surprised him with tickets, slipped inside of his dossier he’d “forgotten” before leaving for the present mission with a note that read:

_Heard you’re a fan of good theatre. I’ve made dinner reservations at Hakkan Mayfair as well. – Love, J._

James Bond was not dead.

Try as he might, Q could not get any device to register as being active, not even when he rebooted the entire system sixteen minutes in – something that was never supposed to happen. One agent’s life was not supposed to take precedence over everyone else’s, the objectives of their missions too important. If it wasn’t abundantly clear before where Q’s loyalties lay, it was now as he vigorously attacked the very system that he had built himself from every possible angle.

“Q,” a quiet voice came from behind, startling him out of his focus ten minutes later. He felt Moneypenny’s slim hand resting on his shoulder, firmly grasping him no doubt ready to support his weight if it gives out again. “He’s gone. There’s nothing more that you can do.” Her voice is gentle, meant to offer comfort. Eve wasn’t in the know of course, if she had she’d never stop her meddling or intervening on Q’s behalf, but she was still a good friend. One of the few who had stood up and defending both Q and James’ actions after Skyfall in the hearings that Q was forced to attend and James had blatantly ignored in favour of “medical treatment.” Any other agent, it would be taken as such.

He’d lost agents since becoming Quartermaster of course, it was unavoidable in this line of work, something Q had learned at a very young age when his Mother would come home late at night, and wake him just to offer a hug and a firm forehead kiss before tucking him back into bed. But the idea of losing _James…_ James was _his_ in more ways than one. This was one failure he could not accept, would not accept until his body was delivered to him—flag draped casket and all. That was not going to happen today.

“Don’t,” he bit out, shrugging of her hand without much thought. He turned to address his staff. “What was double-oh seven’s last known location?” He asked sharply, jaw set in defiance. His stare bore into each and every underling, daring them to question his judgment. 

The room was absolute still for a long minute, before Mallory entered with R quickly trailed behind him at his heels. “Where are we?” Mallory asked, addressing the room at large. 

Tanner cleared his throat before stepping forward, and said “We’ve lost double-oh’s location. Q has been unable to bring his tracking system back online. He was compromised.“ His voice cracked on the word, but continues after a deep breath, “There was an exchange of gunfire before all available feeds cut out completely. We’re unsure of Bond’s conditions or his whereabouts, sir.” 

Mallory rolled his eyes. “In other words, another day at the office.” A few junior staff, unused to seeing the head of MI6 outside of his office, gaped at the absolute lack of concern the man showed. “Let’s get him back, then.” Mallory added, after another moment where absolutely nothing happened. 

“We could try turning his phone of? “ a timid voice from the back of the room offered. 

Q shook his head. “The communication system doesn’t depend on his mobile being active, but if they’ve removed his tracker –“ there’s a pause, before Q turns sharply, opening several windows at once and began barking orders.

“They would have turned off or destroyed his phone, but they will need to coordinate the interrogation, and move him. We can use that. Anderson, I want you establishing a geographic range, double-oh seven has been out of contact for thirty-six minutes,” a pause, “Thirty-seven. Figure out where he could have been taken. Pull any resources necessary; I don’t care what you have to do, or favours you need to cash in on. Cooper, I want full background on each of these goons. Figure out how the _hell_ they knew who Bond is, and who they’re working for. Radley can help you. R, scramble the nearest retrieval unit. I want medical on standby at the nearest embassy as well, we’ll airlift him if we have to.” 

He barely paused to ascertain that they understood their directives before turning back to address Mallory, Monneypenny and Tanner. “Can we cut a deal with anyone? How much room do we have here? I’m going to need access to several satellite feeds and boots on the ground possibly, depending on whether or not there are nuclear warheads actually present—“ 

Mallory hadn’t waited for him to finish before nodding curtly, “I’ll make some calls,” he said. He left without another word. Moneypenny followed silently, already having pulled out her phone before the pair reached the doors. Tanner remained, silent and watchful, but mindful of Q’s need for space to think and work. Q filled it away for later, feeling assured that the man was there to pass along messages if need be. 

It took forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of tense silence and clattering keyboards before Q was able to locate a laptop sat on a table near where Bond was bound to a chair. He was bleeding, with three men circled around him taking their turn exchanging blows and threats, while a fourth stood off to the side with a gun trained on James. Bond was quickly losing the battle with consciousness, a nasty gash on his head oozed slowly. His view was limited, however the webcam was already active, so it hadn’t taken much effort to tap into the feed. It lowered the risk of being discovered as well, but seeing as he’d nearly traced the location and was narrowing it down to a particular block, he wasn’t particularly concerned. R hovered at his elbow, ready to scramble a team as soon as Q gave the word.

Q had to bite back a triumphant yelp when the feed clicked over, and filled the room. “If you won’t tell me who you work for, you should tell me what you’re after. My employer will be interested in knowing this much at least,” One of the men was saying, leaning close to Bond, as if to make sure he was heard.

“I would be interested in a drink,” Bond replied, taking care to deliver his message as dryly as possible. This earns him a slap across the face before the man stomps angrily away. This gave Q the opportunity he’d been waiting for. He all but shoved Tanner out of the way in his haste to switch workstations. He taps out a quick message in Morse, taking advantage of the webcam light.

_Found you 007. CIA en route. 15 out. Q._

Bond’s answering laugh was worth every minute of agony up until that point. Q could only wait and hope Felix and his men knew what they’re dealing with. 

            *                                                 *                                                       *

For the next twenty minutes, Q paced, wound himself round and round the path of the labyrinth he’d painted on the floor one night in a fit of boredom. While some may have found it eccentric, it was damn near therapeutic for Q, giving him something to focus on when his hands were tied and there was nothing left for him to _do._ He listened to the feed he’d hacked into –tapped directly into Leiter’s earwig, but didn’t dare speak himself. He suspected Leiter’s superiors would be none to pleased about not only having to stick their neck out for MI6, but risk another agency running roughshod over the whole damn op. He listened closely as they breached the building, followed their path as they cleared each room before finally he heard the words “Asset retrieved. Pulling out now.” He had to dive to mute the feed to cut off the cheers, not that he really cared what the director the CIA had to say about it. He was distantly aware of Q Branch emptying out; reduced to the skeletal staff it ought to be at this time of night.

Minutes later, Q’s work phone rang. “Q here,” Q answered, attempting to appear appropriately removed from the whole situation. He wasn’t sure who would be on the other line. He knew who he hoped it would be, but he had to be professional until then.

“Good to hear from you too, “ James replied weakly, dissolving into a coughing fit that is muffled. Oxygen, Q thinks dimly. He could hear faintly in the background people as they streamed past Bond—both medical professionals and agents. 

“You are an arsehole you know that right? I swear James—“ Q’s voice cut off abruptly, choking off the emotion before he could sob from relief at hearing Bond’s voice. “You’re paying for dinner, and I’m ordering caviar.”

 “Only if you let me feed it to you, love.” James’ voice softened at the end, and Q heard every bit of exhaustion bleeding into his words.

Q couldn’t help but laugh. At the edge of his vision he saw Moneypenny had returned. She waited at a polite distance, but a slight smile played at her lips as if she could guess the tone if not the content of their conversation “Arranging your transportation, will forward to your email. I trust you will be able to convince someone to lend you a secure mobile. Come home soon.”

                                    *                                                  *                                                          *

Bond had to spend six days in medical, after two spent in a Washington, D.C. hospital. Felix greeted the Quartermaster, Moneypenny and Tanner at the airport as he watched James limp down the stairs and across the tarmac in record speed.

“You must be the new Quartermaster,” Felix said as he regarded Q carefully, noting how closely Bond stood to the younger man – much closer than he would anyone else—all but leaning on him.

 “Indeed,” Q nodded, before he turned toward the others.“Moneypenny, Tanner, meet Felix Leiter of CIA,” he said.

“Tell your boss, mine will be calling. You owe me one,” Leiter said, good-naturedly. “Take care of yourself, let these ones take care of you for once.”

 “At least I didn’t get shot,” James returns, somewhat groggily.

“This time,” Q agreed, already having read the medical file sent to him on the way to Heathrow. Despite this, he still had an arm wrapped around Bond’s waist, pausing only to give his thanks before dragging Bond to the waiting car. 

 “My reward will have to wait,” Bond says once they are left alone in Medical, referring to the conversation they’d had just days before. Q can hardly believe that only a few days had passed since then.

Q snorted. “Coming from you, that says a lot. You must be hurt.” He paused before gathering James’ hands into his own, bringing them up to his lips to kiss his bandaged knuckles and splinted fingers. “I’m sorry.” Q breathed, “I should have been there.” 

“Q, don’t. You couldn’t have known. I’m fine, and Alec’s fine. His life was in far more danger than mine, and you know that.” James said gently, looking up to meet Q’s gaze. “You can do me a favour however,” James said after a moment.

Q squints at him. “You never ask for favours,” he accused.

 James laughed richly, “No,” he agreed. “But if you could get me out of here, I would love you forever.”

 Q rolled his eyes, “You already do.” He said. James only smiled in response, and Q shook his head getting to his feet “I’ll see what I can do. Don’t move.” 

It’s a hard sell, convincing medical that he is more than competent enough to look after Bond with his concussion, stitches and antibiotics regimen along with various bandages and dressings that have to be changed daily. Q managed to only convince them once Moneypenny showed up with a directive from M stating that the PM is due to visit of their new facilities, so if they could please do something about double-oh seven before he causes a national incident, and gets them all fired.

Bond surprised Q by not heading to his car parked in the lot, but rather Q’s office where he pulled Q down on the couch, and buried himself into Q’s arms. He let out a deep contented sigh, and said to no one in particular “Now I’m home.”


End file.
